


From Turmoil to Terror: 1919 - 1945

by twinflower



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Colonialism, Gen, Historical Accuracy, Historical Figures, Historical Hetalia, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Period-Typical Racism, Post-World War I, Soviet Union, Spanish Civil War, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 12:03:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19393747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinflower/pseuds/twinflower
Summary: The Great War has ended. Left in its wake was this – not respite, not peace, only the herald of chaos and destruction, a 20-year armistice before the beginning of yet another World War; one even more devastating and brutal than its predecessor.The year is 1919. America retreats to isolation, covering the North and South Americas under the Monroe Doctrine. In Europe, everyone licks their wounds and mourns. Germany resents. France is tired and Italy discontent. Russia tears himself into shades of red and white, and the birth of new nations simply marks further conflict. Japan eyes a battered China. The question is then, how did we go from here, to the most destructive war of all time?[Slow burn historical fanfiction, about the interwar and world war 2; Multiple POV; minor characters and relationships will be tagged as they appear.]





	From Turmoil to Terror: 1919 - 1945

La Troisième République  
French Third Republic  
28 June 1919

The palace of Versailles lays a mere 17km from Paris, and even in earlier centuries such was less than a day’s journey away. In the years before the future King of France Louis XIII arrived on a hunting trip, it was but a small village and church, nested amongst a forest of abundant game. By the end of the 17th century it would be completely unrecognisable to anyone who lived a hundred years ago, before its transformation begun; a village turned into a hunting lodge; a hunting lodge became a château, which transformed into a palace; a glittering, gilded monument to the Sun King’s extravagance.

Under his rule, the Kingdom of France was the preeminent power in Europe; admired for his military and cultural successes, power, and sophistication. The palace of Versailles became a symbol of the king’s power and glory; inspiring awe in loyal subjects and foreign dignitaries alike. And if the costs of his many wars and endeavours, of which Versailles was one of many, left his kingdom weakened and in debt, well, he would not live to see the consequences bear fruit in his time. The monarchy fell soon after; the palace did not. Throughout the centuries it would weather through sieges and revolutions, a renovation and even a brief stint as a museum.

Through it all, the palace had seen peasants and kings, revolutionaries, giving way to emperors; great architects of buildings and of the state. It had seen dynasties rise and fall, republics overthrowing monarchies only to be replaced yet again. Many of these men lay dead; some will be preserved in the annals of history; others, forgotten, their stories lost in the sands of time. It matters not the cause of death or the way they were buried; whether their corpses rot in extravagant coffins or remain fallen on a battlefield, the war too vicious and recent to have its causalities cleared and exhumed yet. Soon those alive today will meet this fate too. 

As thus, no man alive today had seen the palace’s metamorphosis, had seen it before its hallowed halls became the site of grand ceremonies and acts of governance. Well, excepting himself. Then again, you couldn’t precisely call the personified representation of France itself a person, could you?

Ah, but perhaps that is a question better saved for another time and place. Indeed, before him looms the Palace of Versailles, swarming with incoming delegates and diplomats, cutting a sharp image in black and white – these are the men, armed with only their wits and their words, who will reshape the map of the world as surely as the generals and admirals with their hulking iron behemoths, commanding the lives of millions of men. 

Today they are here to sign the Treaty of Versailles. It would mark an end to the Great War. A few decades ago France would had gladly traded the lives of his men if it meant he got to smash Germany’s stupid face in. Now, with more than a million Frenchmen sacrificed in endless trenches across Belgium and Northern France, he wondered if it was worth it. 

To the generals, to the leaders, blithely ordering forth more assaults, more offensives, it may only be numbers. 8.4 million mobilised. 1.3 million dead. 4.3 million wounded. If he lingered on these numbers too long they turn into men, fathers and brothers and sons and brothers-in-arm; the baker down a street in Paris or the workers in coal mines in Nord-Pas de Calais. For these men, these boys, thrown head first into the meatgrinder that is modern war, he would do everything he could to honour their sacrifices and their memories, for what else could he do? He would ensure the cause they fought for, the reason France went to war, be fulfilled. No, more than that, he swore, never would a war of such devastation reach his borders again; if this generation of Frenchmen had to be lost for the sake of this war, then may future generations never have to experience the dull, monotonous horrors of this new warfare, of thousands dead to gain centimetres of land. 

And for this, France knew, he had to dismantle Germany. For good. There would be no peace for him as long as a strong Germany still stands on the other side of the Rhine. No, it would not be enough to regain his dear Alsace-Lorraine, the two provinces forcibly taken from him by Germany in the aftermath of the Franco-Prussian war of 1871. It would not be enough to impose on Germany the same kind of compensation he forced France to pay back then, the 5 billion francs which served as salt on an already inflamed wound. No, more needs to be done. For the enormous causalities France had suffered, a larger proportion to population out of any other major power, for the infrastructure and industry destroyed in Northern France, for the land there, ravaged by the scars of war and lined with kilometres upon kilometres of those blasted trenches, Germany, as the aggressor, deserved to pay more. 

If he could have his way, he would dismantle him. Take from Germany the Rhineland, making it into an independent country. If he could he would savour in Germany’s expression; now, he would understand his pain, his hatred. Even better, such a move would weaken him permanently, for without his precious iron basin, the source of his industrial power, where would he be? Certainly, not in a position to invade France again. Truly, it was unfortunate that America and England did not approve, forcing him to settle for less heavy terms. He wished they could see that a mere demilitarisation of the Rhineland was not enough. They had to take from Germany, the strength to ever strike back again. 

In the end he could not insist on too many penalties; England and America were still, after all, participants in the war with their own stakes and say, even if it was him that suffered the most, in blood and sweat and tears, in lives cut short far too early. America, ever naïve, had backed up his president in insisting on a fair peace, as if Germany would seek peace and cooperation if they let him go with but a slap on the wrist. Even England thought he was being too harsh – did he forget the devastation Germany inflicted, the atrocities in neutral Belgium, the terms Germany himself imposed, no less harsh than this, on France in 1871 and, even harsher than that of Versailles, on Russia only a year ago in the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk? 

Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to change that. The treaty has already been hashed out between Italy and the 3 of them already, and today was merely a signing ceremony, in truth. Reminding himself of that, France stepped into the Hall of Mirrors, where delegates were already trickling in. At least, he thought with relish, even if he didn’t achieve all his goals in the Treaty, he could twist the knife in by having the ceremony be conducted in Versailles. Even if it was unlikely, he hoped Germany was here in person today. 

To have the treaty marking Germany’s defeat be signed in the same building, even the same hall of mirrors that in 1871 had seen Prussia’s King be proclaimed as the Emperor of the newly created German empire, the same hall that Prussia had used to humiliate him further with how far he had fallen from glory, it was something that gave him a sense of bitter, wry amusement. And if the Paris Peace Conference that resulted in this treaty was opened on the same day as the proclamation of the German empire, well, it just made his revenge total and complete. 

Around him were numerous delegates, prominent or otherwise. Seated close to the dais in the centre was England. From his angle he thought that he looked distinctively composed; self-confident, even, certainly calmer than during the negotiations in the Quai d’Orsay. Looking around, France thought he could spot a bunch of minor nations scattered in the crowd of delegations and national leaders. The horseshoe table seating the delegates was almost full by this point. He sighed. The chatter was beginning to grate on him a little. Normally, he would be taking part in it as well, but today it just made him antsy. Certainly, he was quite eager for the ceremony to be over – there was nothing he wanted more right now than for the treaty to be signed and for the ceremony to be over, with all the deaths and destruction behind them. Better for him if a flawed treaty was accepted and signed into reality than if the Germans refuse to sign it at all, especially given rumours about reluctance on the part of the German government. For while they could no doubt crush the defeated Germany, going to war again was not a particularly pleasant thought.

Luckily, France was interrupted in his thoughts by a sudden hush. It seemed as though the American President Woodrow Wilson and the British Prime Minister Lloyd George has finally arrived. The officials shushed them again, and a thick, absolute silence descended upon them. An order was issued. At the doorways, the Gardes Republicains sheathed their swords with a great flourish. Clemenceau, his prime minister’s voice echoed in the silent hall. Brusquely, he called for the Germans to be brought in. 

If you asked him afterwards, France would only be able to remember a few parts of the ceremony clearly. He would not remember signing the treaty himself or mingling with the other delegates afterwards well. No, clearly imprinted in his mind are the next few minutes; and afterwards, the thunderous roar of a gun salute, announcing to all of Paris that their historical enemy had signed the Treaty of Versailles. 

Through the door at the end, two huissiers entered, adorned with silver chains. Behind them were four officers of the “Big four”: France, Great Britain, America, and Italy. Two German delegates appeared behind them. They were the newly installed Foreign Minister Hermann Müller and Colonial Minister Johannes Bell, and they appeared pitiable. Their complexions were deathly pale. One was thin and pink-eyelidded. The other was moon-faced and suffering. Their eyes were fixed upon the ceiling, stubbornly avoiding the thousands of vulture-like eyes staring at them. In the pin-drop silence, their steps echoed hollowly in duplicate. They looked less like representatives of brutal militarism, and more like a pair of sacrifices marching towards their doom. Clemenceau began speaking when they reached their chairs. 

“Messieurs,” he rasped, “The session is now open,” before adding, “We are here to sign a Treaty of Peace.” 

The Germans leaped up anxiously. They were motioned to sit down again. Clemenceau’s words were then translated into English. Then the Germans were led towards the small table on the central dais upon which the Treaty sat expectantly. In the hall, there was a feeling of great tension, of a thousand men waiting with bated breath, understanding that this was a momentous event, one that would define the world order for decades and beyond. 

They signed. The tension broke. France relaxes, all his unnoticed tension flowing out of his posture. He smiled, exhausted but relieved all the same. It was over. There would be time, later, for regrets or reconsiderations or recriminations. For now, the biggest hurdle to the treaty, after months of rough negotiations and unhappy compromises, whether the Germans would accept the terms imposed, was crossed. All around him conversation hummed once again in an undertone. The next hour or so proceeded in a flurry. There was a queue waiting by the signature table, where delegates file towards the small table – first the delegation of the United States, then the British, followed by their dominions, and afterwards his, the French delegation, and then that of an assortment of other countries. When he reached the table, the officials of the Quai d’Orsay directed them, indicating where to sign, which procedures to follow, a quick, efficient affair. 

Outside the gun salute was performed; sharp and sudden like a thunderclap, it instantly drew all attention, breaking up the monotony in the halls. If he concentrated, he could distantly feel the noise spread out to the rest of France, as guns outside of Paris began to take up the chorus of victory. In the streets of Paris, large crowds were cheering, yelling themselves hoarse in celebration – the historical humiliation of France had been avenged. No more shall the loss of Alsace-Lorraine lurk, ever present, in every layer of French society, for they have been returned finally to the fatherland. The scars of the Great War would not fade so easily, so quickly – like the echoes of ravaged battlefields carved into his right shoulder, it would be many generations before it begins to disappear into the pages of history. But for now, this was a triumph. A victory built on millions of sacrifices, yes, but a victory nonetheless. And deep inside him was a swelling feeling, and for that moment France wanted to leave this hall with its stuffy atmosphere, to join the crowds in their wild enthusiasm and exuberance, to allow himself to be relieved and happy without thinking about what it cost or if it was worth it or how they would rebuild. 

As the ceremony adjourned, the delegates rose, congratulating one another. Others streamed out to join the crowd outside. The first to leave was the Germans, alone and silent, two hitherto unknown figures performing the closing act to a war they had been condemned to by the hubris of German militarists, imperialists, and industrial barons. If he had any pity for the Germans, France thought, he would spare some for these two; perhaps it was just the location, the circumstance, but for a moment he was reminded of himself a mere 50 years ago, reeling from his defeat, overthrown from his position at the top.

There would be time later to contemplate on it, he though; today was a day of joy, of victory, as bittersweet was, and for the rest of the day and night, he would be but one among the crowd of people in Paris singing and dancing and celebrating, revelling in the delirium of joy, filling the city’s boulevards and squares. After 5 years of grief and suffering, who could bemoan them for it? But where France was celebrating, all across Germany, embittered citizens were lowering their flags to half-staff – mourning for the fate of their country, and what it means for themselves.

**Author's Note:**

> Today is the 105th and 100th anniversary of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, and the signing of the Treaty of Versailles. An appropriate date to post this, eh?
> 
> I wrote this because I really wanted a deeply historical fanfiction exploring the intricacies of history through the lens of nations and how they and their relationships change over time. Given this, I have done a substantial amount of research on the topic, and I really hope it makes this narrative more intricate while keeping it understandable. 
> 
> If you have any comments, questions, or if you want sources, feel free to comment below.


End file.
